


The End

by Invader_FanGirl



Category: GHOST | GHOST and Pals (Musician)
Genre: Basically it's just Christopher being Christopher, Gen, Implied abuse, Manipulation, What a wacky man, guilt tripping, implied suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-08
Updated: 2020-03-08
Packaged: 2021-02-27 22:09:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22992988
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Invader_FanGirl/pseuds/Invader_FanGirl
Summary: A lone, worn envelope sits ominously on an old wooden desk, unopened and forgotten.Although its purpose is unclear, two words on the envelope are as fresh and bold as the day they were written, a long time ago:“The End”Of course, many years have passed since I’ve written the note, so I have no idea what it says. I can only remember that I wasn’t exactly in the best state of mind at the time.In any case, please don’t assume that what I’ve written back then reflects the person that I am now. I’ve changed since then, and I can assure you, I’ve changed for the better. Therefore, you cannot fault me for what I’ve written in the past.Remember that.
Kudos: 6





	The End

**Author's Note:**

> Well, here’s where my writing takes a dark turn. Enjoy… I guess.

##  _~~~  
_

_To whom it may concern,  
  
_

_I’m sure you have many questions. I’m sure that you’re expecting answers. However, in all honesty, I don’t think I owe you anything. With all that has transpired, why would I? Do you think I **want** to write why I’ve done this, when the problem has been staring back at you all this time? I don’t feel the need to stoop so low in order to list your offenses. You know exactly what you’ve done to me. And I’m afraid that I’ve reached my limit.  
  
I can’t handle dealing with this anymore. The incessant lies against me, the vicious arguments, the lack of trust between friends whom I’ve known for so long—it’s too much. In fact, it’s all culminated to the point where I’ve had a realization: **no one wants to understand me.** No one wants to listen to me. No one cares about me. Everyone has given up on me. All that people want to do now is tarnish my name and make me into a monster. My reputation has been so warped and distorted that it’s hardly recognizable, and no matter how hard I try, I can’t convince people of the truth.  
  
I’m not a monster, I’m a victim. For years, you’ve all been projecting your disgusting insecurities onto me, and now you perceive me as the very thing you fear about yourselves. Why is that, do you think? Do you fear your own reflection? Is that the problem? You cannot handle the idea that you might be a bad person? Is that it?  
  
You make me sick. You can’t just take out the anger that you hold towards yourself onto an innocent being. You need to realize that your delusions are harmful to others. I’ve done nothing wrong, and yet you’re out to hurt me. You’ve tormented me day after day, relentlessly chipping away at my sanity. And you know what, **I can’t fucking take it anymore.**  
  
Only Lillian understands me. She’s the only friend that I have left, and for that I am forever grateful. Unlike everyone else, she sees the truth of it all, and because of that, she has agreed to join me in my final act. Let Lillian be an example of what you all should have done for me. She listens to me. She never gave up on me. She **cares** about me. I cannot express how much I value her over all of you heathens. The world may not care about me very much, but let it be known that it has lost a very kind soul as a result of its cruelty.  
  
I will never forgive any of you. You’ve driven me to do this, and you should be ashamed of yourselves. I’ve endured your torture long enough, and I’m glad to be finally free from this miserable life. Good fucking riddance._

  
_Sincerely,_   
_Christopher Pierre_

## ~~~

Christopher sighed, all but throwing his fountain pen onto his writing desk. Well, that only took around a few hours. And it certainly wasn’t easy; he had probably burned three notes now, deeming them all unfit as final drafts. But at least he was finished.

After a brief stretch, he picked up and straightened out his note, rereading it for any errors. He inspected the quality of his writing, making sure that it wasn’t as neat as it usually was, in order to give the impression that he wrote the letter in a desperate rush. This had to be convincing, after all. After a moment of looking it over, he decided that his penmanship was indeed messy enough. Surely whoever wrote this was at the end of their rope.

Setting the paper down, Christopher picked up a nearby cup of water that he had set aside at the beginning of his writing. He dipped his fingers into the water, before holding his hand over the paper so that the water dripped onto it in uneven amounts. Not so much that the paper was ruined, but just enough so that the water left impressions on the paper after drying. Now it appeared as if he were crying while writing this letter.

Wiping his hand on his vest, he took another long look at the letter. It looked awful. Good. As an afterthought, he swiped his thumb over some of the still-wet words, smearing the ink slightly as he did so. Now the note was even worse. _Perfect._

After folding the paper three times, he inserted it into an envelope, and closed it with a red wax seal. Flipping the envelope over, he picked his pen up off of the desk and brought it back to the paper, intending to write the subject of the note on it. In shaky cursive writing, Christopher wrote his final words:

_“The End”_

He paused. He stared at the words for a moment. It was then that the weight of the situation hit him at full force.

This was it, wasn’t it? He was going to die in a couple of hours. His plan was in motion.

Christopher hesitated for a few seconds more before setting the note down neatly on his desk. He stood up from his chair and made his way towards the door out of his study. Lillian would be here very soon, and he needed to get ready. Everything was in place. It will all be over, it was just a matter of time.

He stopped at the doorway. Lingering there, he glanced back towards his desk. The cyanide pills suddenly felt heavy in his pocket.

_This is it. No going back now._

After heaving another sigh to steady himself, Christopher left the study and walked towards his room of mirrors.

**Author's Note:**

> Fun fanfic ideas for your favorite horrible characters: AN ENTIRE FUCKING SUICIDE NOTE
> 
> Also, I took some liberties here with the name of Christopher's friend. I know that the descendant is named "Lilia," but until we get an official name from GHOST? I'm calling the ancestor "Lillian."
> 
> Dumb, I know, but I have almost nothing to work with here.
> 
> Edit: Here's a dramatic reading of this (not done by me)! Enjoy!  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qeEq1HN26XY&feature=emb_logo


End file.
